You Could Be Happy
by redknightalex
Summary: In a world where Gina isn't revealed as a Cylon when Pegasus meets Galactica, Admiral Cain has to deal with the consequences of governing the rest of humanity in her own unique fashion. AU from "Pegasus"/"Razor".
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **You Could Be Happy

**Author: **redknightalex

**Pairing: **Gina/Cain mainly, mention of other canon-only pairings.

**Rating:** PG-13, nothing you haven't seen on the show. There is some nudity, sexual references and violence. If it increased I'll be sure to update the rating.

**Warnings: **Bit o' drama and angst mixed with those all-important what the frak now moments. I'm trying to steer away from those real-heavy subjects like torture, etc. that we had already seen on the show. Again, it it changes, I'll let you know.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except the computer I wrote this on.

**Setting/Spoilers:** This takes place immediately after _Pegasus_ is reunited with _Galactica_ (or the other way around) and Cain meets with Adama and Roslin. There may or may not be spoilers up to the episode "Pegasus" so just knowing what happens in them will help. As the story continues I may also deal with what occurs in later episodes, like "Resurrection Ship" and "Black Market".

**Summary: **In a world where Gina isn't revealed as a Cylon when _Pegasus _meets _Galactica_, Admiral Cain has to deal with the consequences of governing the rest of humanity in her own unique fashion.

**Author's Note (read as needed):** I've always been fascinated by Admiral Cain and was somewhat dissatisfied with how the show treated and portrayed her. I was disappointed that she had to die although I cannot really find fault with how she did (very poetic with a tinge of tragedy and irony). She would have been a great contrast to Adama that Roslin no longer gave, the two had become a team and their earlier conflict had dissolved. She was also a character that showed you just how many shades of gray people really do have. Such a great opportunity gone to waste, I believe. So I want to bring her back with just a few things changed.

My main goal for this fic is to look at how Cain would have handled suddenly being in charge of a large civilian fleet, president, and political system. How would Cain have reacted to suddenly having hope for the human species again? Or did she view 40k+ people as still an insignificant number?

I also want to answer the question what if Cain had to deal with Gina's Cylonism later on and in a more mature way? Her reaction on the show was, although completely human, very knee-jerkish and didn't have all the soul-searching and moral redefining that Adama had with Athena. If given the time and slightly different circumstances I believe Cain would have handled it very differently and in a manner more becoming of her station. Or, at least, how I think she could have handled it if she was surrounded by mediators between her pain and Gina.

So, really, this is an au sort-of story. Gina hasn't been revealed to be a Cylon by the time _Pegasus _joins _Galactica_ and Cain has made a few choices differently.

* * *

**Prologue**

Suddenly she moaned. She moaned long, hard, and full of passion. Then she hunched her shoulders, threw her head back, and laughed.

She could _feel_ it.

Baltar turned to look at her. He liked to think he understood the basic functions of his affectionately called "Head Six" and there were times when he even understood her logic. This was not one of those times. He wasn't even touching her and she was moaning in what appeared to be sexual ecstasy.

He glanced around discreetly, counting the number of people in the hallway before turning to her and asking, "do you have an explanation?"

Leveling her head, she gave him the biggest smile he had ever seen appear on her face.

"You're going to have a familiar visitor."

* * *

**Chapter 1**

She took a deep breath after stepping down from the Raptor when she arrived back on her own ship. It was like being home after a long vacation and having that feeling of finally being back where you belonged. Vacations and shore leaves were always nice but they could never hold a candle to the peace found only in that one, specific place. And _Pegasus_ was home. Everything about it calmed her, centered her, focused her. This past excursion was the first in almost a year that had taken her off the ship in any form. She couldn't even remember the last time she boarded a Raptor and sat in a Vipor for anything over than inspection.

She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and breathed it all in again.

She hadn't thought of it that way before. What do you do when you can finally change your locale? Should you be moving about as if you were free, as if you had a choice, or continue to plant your feet on the same bulkheads, on the same strips of metal?

Opening her eyes, she glanced around. She could still hear the parties going on in the back rooms of the hanger. People were happy. Ecstatic. This was the first bit of goods news they have had since the colonies were destroyed. Even she had to smile and praise her luck at times. Finding the _Galactica_ and the ships hovering around it like bees to their queen could only come from some divine intervention. The Gods were still looking after their much maligned creations. This was proof.

She took one step, then two, until she was walking at her normal, steady cadence. For the first time she found herself weaving in and out of other people instead of having others weave around her. Everything was chaotic and she desperately wanted to correct it all, to restore things to order, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't put herself up to the task. Tomorrow the work would begin again, 110% given and received. Today...today was for celebration. Perhaps even she would partake in the festivities.

Her meeting with Commander Adama and President Roslin was informative. It gave her much to think about, much to evaluate. Suddenly she was in charge of an actual military, of an actual fleet, instead of her one battlestar. Did this mean she had to change her tactical plans? Should she worry about the civilian fleet? Should she even worry about having a president to "report" to.

She turned a corner and her lip twitched dangerously. The presidency was a farce, an act, to make the civilians feel better, to let them have a small sense of peace and comfort. To make matters worse, Adama, a military man, had decided to kiss-up to the secretary of education and work with her to try and outrun the Cylons. They were all forgetting that a war is being raged and whether or not they decided to fight it was not up to them. They had become too defensive, too docile, too scared to hit back. They were acting like an abused dog, too hurt and wounded to do anything but lick its own wounds and whimper at any approaching shadow. It disgusted her. Did they not feel sick themselves for not avenging their fallen comrades? How could they sleep at night knowing that they were doing nothing?

All this left her to think about how _Pegasus _had been performing. She and her battlestar were pulling all of the dead weight left behind by Adama and his entourage. If Adama had been on the offensive this whole time like he should have been then maybe....

No, she chastised herself, no use thinking of what ifs, of what could have been. The past is the past, you cannot change it, you only have to accept it and have faith that you did what was right. She had done everything she knew to be right at that given time with those circumstances and she faulted herself for nothing. If given the chance she would change nothing. Absolutely nothing. She believed it with all her might.

She was nearing her quarters, more than halfway there. So close.

What to do now with this fleet? Could she continue her guerrilla warfare? How much power did the president have? Would people really miss the president? Could she relieve Roslin of her position if the woman got in her way? Did she have to worry about her imminent death? Could she take power then? Did she need to institute martial law? Would the fleet rebel? How much power did the fleet have? Resources? People? Professionals? Could some be reassigned? How many families? How many crimes? Problems? Deadweights?

She shook her head. There were too many variables, too many unknowns, to make a concrete plan. She needed to know more. She needed to know about the _Galactica_, about Roslin, about the fleet. She just need more information before she drew up her plan.

She knew one thing for certain: she was in command.

...and she just wanted to lay down for just a few minutes and think. She wanted to be home.

Her pace picked up as she headed to her quarters. She was suddenly anxious to get to her sanctuary, the one place she allowed casual seating, the only place she ever closed her eyes for longer than a few seconds. She could be weak in her quarters...to a point. There were still a few things she would never, could never, do, not even behind the closed hatch.

She turned the corner to find the guard assigned to covering her quarters. Although he had an air of perfect professionalism about him she could see right through his mask. He was still on duty and, although it was important work, he would not be able to enjoy the celebrations until his shift was over six hours from now. By that time most of the cigars would have been smoked and many would have already found a partner to rack with for the night. He would miss out, once again, all because of his poor luck at drawing the late shift.

Stopping before the hatch, she looked him over. Her lip twitched.

"You're relieved," she said, her voice sounding strange and distant even to her own ears.

He looked at her, blinking twice before shouldering his rifle, giving her a crisp salute, and walking at a brisk pace towards his locker. One did not question her orders, especially when it was a gift.

When he was out of sight, she smiled faintly. Today was for celebration and being nice, she reminded herself. Furthermore you couldn't ask one of your subordinates to do something you wouldn't yourself do and, tonight, all she wanted to do was to be happy.

Without another moment's thought Admiral Cain stepped through the hatch and into her quarters only to be engulfed in an over-powering embrace.

"Isn't it wonderful?!" was mumbled against her neck.

Cain's slight smile widened into one as full blown as the nearest star and returned the embrace. Turning her head to the side she breathed in another familiar scent. This scent, which only this one particular woman had, made her head spin, her lungs seize, and her knees weaken. But, above all, it made her deliriously happy. In the back of her mind she wondered if a person could also be a place to call home.

Cain pushed Gina away so that she could look directly into eyes bursting with a new-found hope. She wasn't sure if she shared this hope, this general feeling of well-being, but who was she to dampen Gina's spirits?

"It is wonderful," Cain whispered before slowly, carefully, leaning in for a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Cain broke open the bottle of brandy Commander Adama had given to her right before she left _Galactica_. It was wonderful stuff and she greatly appreciated the gesture. It helped to quell the anxiety bubbling up within her as the more she thought about combining the fleets the more apprehensive she got. Ships were like families and, sometimes, mashing two families together didn't work out the way one would imagine. In the next few days she would have to go over the ships manifests, logs, and reports to determine who would work well in the two vastly different environments of either _Pegasus _or _Galactica._ She already had in mind a few of her own personnel that didn't thrive under her constant vigilance and demands and just might function more efficiently under the more lax control of Adama.

She understood that one approach to a solution, even her own approach, may not be what works best for everyone. Now, whether or not she acted upon it and helped others out with their problem (for she would have no issue following her own mandates) is, in large part, the product of living with another person.

Holding the two glasses of brandy in one hand she sneaked back under the covers. Gina relieved her of a glass, sniffed the liquid, and made a face.

"I can't believe you drink this stuff, it's horribly strong."

Cain chuckled. "It took me years to really acquire a taste. My superiors loved to hand the stuff out at any opportunity. It was rather taboo not to drink."

They clinked glasses before taking a sip. Gina made another, more annoyed and abhorrent look than before as she tasted the liquid.

"Ugh," she groaned, "one sip is certainly enough for me, thank you."

Cain gave her a smile, took the offered glass back, took another sip, and placed them both on her book stand. "That's alright, more for me to enjoy."

She laid down on her back and pulled Gina close, directing the honeyed head to lay upon her shoulder. When their naked bodies touched once more she shivered slightly while Gina make a tiny noise of approval.

Cain always liked holding Gina this way. There was no other feeling on the ship quite like it. She could smell that incredibly intoxicating hair, let it move through her fingers, and feel the whole of the other's body while still keeping a part of herself private. She could stare at the ceiling and think if she needed to while still remain connected to Gina. To Cain, it was the best of both the private her and the increasingly demanded open her she had with Gina.

And Gina was demanding, at least emotionally. She continually challenged Cain to open up, to let go, to identify everything that she was feeling. Was she angry at the pilots? Was she frustrated? At just the pilots or at herself as well? Most of the time, Cain found, she was mad at herself. Somehow she decided to shoulder everyone's responsibilities and failures, taking each small fault of each of her subordinates personally. Even if this drove her and her ship to new heights of perfectionism it strained her to breaking. Then, at the end of the day, she came home and let her companion pick up the pieces. Of course, each time Gina had to rearrange them, making them fit into places they had never fit into before. At times it was more strenuous doing the rearranging than the actual breaking.

It scared Cain to no end that she was frequently equating home with Gina, that the two were the same. Whenever she got back from a tough shift Gina was always there. She'd get off her computer, give the admiral a hug, and officially welcome Helena back.

She traced her fingers along Gina's arm sprawled across her stomach. The skin was soft under her finger tips and, if she did it just right, goosebumps would form and a low groan of approval heard.

When Cain really, truly, honestly thought about it, everything seemed to change after the attack on the communications relay over a month ago. She suddenly felt the weight of all the dead on her shoulders, of Gina's disapproving eyes upon learning the fate of her executive officer. It was hard to look at her and see the sadness revealed in those expressive eyes. But she couldn't look back now, she could only charge forward.

There were other consequences of the attack, the most important one being that Gina had changed. She became more attuned to Cain, as if Cain was the only thing worthy of her attention, the only thing she could ever focus on. Their relationship, which was working just fine before, seemed to have a deeper meaning to it, that it was suddenly more than it had been just a few days ago. In some ways this new attention from Gina unnerved Cain. For a week Cain didn't know what to think, how to act. She wanted to know what had changed in Gina, what had suddenly made her more dependent, until she realized she didn't care. Once she got over her initial distaste she found she enjoyed it, the greater intimacy this new relationship seemed to bring.

Could Cain feel her walls crumbling? Did it happen in one sure moment? Or was it gradual? Did Gina just have to smile and take Cain's hand to make the admiral disappear and the woman underneath it to appear?

And, more importantly, when did she stop caring? When did Cain no longer worry about putting on the face in front of Gina? When had being soft stopped feeling like such a bad thing? When had she become so vulnerable? When did it cease to matter?

Lt. Shaw also became more interested in Cain's personal life after the attack, which irritated her. Her officers didn't need to know about her personal affairs and, even if she was more inclined to let Shaw in than anyone else, she still didn't find a need for it. It had nothing to do with the normal operations of the ship. Even so, she didn't mind that Gina and Shaw would routinely work on the network programming together, the two worked well as a pair. There were a few times when Gina seemed more stressed out after their sessions, to a point where she was edging on the paranoia that seemed to creep up every so often in her dealings with Shaw. After a couple times of trying to deal with Gina's anxious mood, Cain got fed up and went directly to her officer the next morning.

She told Shaw, in no uncertain terms, that she needed to lay off on whatever it was she was doing to Gina that scared the woman so. Shaw had glanced up from her breakfast, looking Cain over, as if to find the answers written in her commanding officer's stance, her attitude. The admiral grew uncomfortable under such scrutiny, something she hadn't felt since her last board examination, but she needed an answer from this lieutenant and would put up with whatever it was that Shaw needed to do, as unorthodox as it may seem, to get it.

Time seemed to slow as admiral and lieutenant read each other's face. What was to be found in each pair of eyes, in each firm jaw? When had Shaw become so independent, so interested in the admiral?

Cain was starting to question what Shaw's real motives were when Shaw replied, "Yes, sir," and the discussion had ended.

During this time of turmoil _Pegasus_ found the fifteen civilian ships floating in space. Cain asked for ship manifests and inventory reports from each ship. That day she placed them on the table in front of her and felt torn. She needed some of the people on board those ships, some with specialties that _Pegasus_ was in dire need of, and their supplies were equally as important to repairing the Vipers and Raptors sitting dead in the hanger, except she couldn't take on fifteen ships that would just follow her, bogging her down. She need to loose that dead weight. To make matters worse, there were families on those ships, with innocent children that had never been asked if they wanted to be in this position.

Cain grew frustrated and slammed her fist on the sturdy glass. No one asked to be placed in this position, how were children any different? They just had to survive.

She reached into her pocket and found that familiar object she always kept there.

She survived.

Of course in the end it doesn't matter, couldn't matter, the Cylons would find all of them eventually and their pitiful existence as a human race would end. Why delay the inevitable? Sometimes she wondered.

Then Gina walked into Cain's world, into her thoughts, into her tactical decisions, and asked, politely, "what is it you're working on?"

Cain glanced from Gina to her reports and back again. Her decision became suddenly clear.

In three quick, sure steps she stood in front of Gina and grabbed her hands. She played with them, caressed them, feeling the small cuts and rough patches on the otherwise tender skin from working on the terminals in the CIC. She stared at those hands for a long, hard time, trying to form the words from the thoughts now screaming in her head.

And Gina, gods bless her, stayed quiet.

"Gina, I-" Cain faltered, the words getting stuck in her dry throat. "I can't loose you. I," she glanced up, finding confused eyes, "I just can't."

Gina smiled. "Then you won't. I'm not going anywhere. Where would I go?"

"No," Cain shook her head. Why was it so hard to get these stupid words out? They were just words after all. "I meant-"

The room was suddenly filled with silence, with absolute clarity, as Gina pressed a knowing kiss against Cain's lips.

And Cain lost all her focus, all her determination when she felt those lips press sweetly against hers. She could feel herself shattering into multiple directions, some skittering all the way to the farthest corners of her quarters. Was Gina tasting the unsaid words, the unfelt emotions laying wait on her lips? Could Gina taste the fear, the uncertainty left there? Could Gina tell that Cain was at her own tipping point? Was this Cain's moment of change?

Cain didn't think so, hoped it wasn't while at the same time daring it to be.

Then she felt a warm, wet tongue flirt across her lips, hands moving to cup her face, and she could feel all those pieces rush back into place. Like sharp pieces of glass they drove into her, cutting her, making her gasp. And with that gasp a honey-sweetened tongue came waltzing in.

Thus they kissed, deeply, passionately, with Cain trying hard to understand all the things she felt at once.

She could feel a kiss, a tongue, a hand, a body. It lulled her gently with a Siren's song.

She could feel the heavy weight in her pocket. It kept her tied like a rope, a mast, chaining her to one spot as such sweet music was played against her mouth, her body.

Cain couldn't decided which one demanded more attention, which one needed her more. Nor could she decided which one she wanted, needed. Couldn't she have both?

With a last, gentle nip to Cain's lower lip, Gina pulled away only far enough to touch foreheads. Her eyes sparkled with a deep happiness. It made Cain's heart beat faster.

"I know," Gina whispered. "I couldn't bear to loose you either."

Could Cain really resist the smile that sprang up, unbidden, from Gina's face? Or suppress the glow that seemed to spread between them, connecting them, uniting them in one single emotion, one thought?It brought her reserves down, broke her defense, and all that was left of Cain was a raw side she couldn't remember ever feeling, ever knowing.

So what else could Cain do but speak with her heart?

Cain closed her eyes, gathered up her courage, and breathed out in one long exhale, "would you move in with me?"

She opened her eyes just as Gina pulled back, eyebrows razed to the ceiling.

Cain panicked, the sense of peace pushed aside. Frak, did she really just say that? Why must she loose so many higher brain functions when she stood so close to this woman? First she had lost all forms of speech but now too the total cognition of what she actually said? Dangerous.

"I mean, would you relocate to my quarters, so that we can accommodate more people? Your current quarters is rather spacious and when you spend all your nights with me anyway it just makes the most sense."

Gina's eyebrows didn't move. "Relocate?"

"Yes, relocate."

After a moment's hesitation the eyebrows returned to their normal, less intimidating position as eyes rolled. "Whatever you need to tell yourself at night, Helena, but I swear that sometimes you just make things more difficult on yourself."

"Is that a yes then?"

"No, it's not a yes. It's an 'of course.'"

The peace, the sense of well-being, returned in full-force to Cain, who only smiled. A hug and several kisses later, Gina took to her quarters to retrieve her belongings.

It was settled.

The next day Cain issued several orders.

First, all civilians were to move from their ships to assigned quarters on _Pegasus_. It would be tight, it would be uncomfortable, but complaints were not allowed. If they didn't like it an airlock would be provided.

Second, all ships were to be searched for goods that would help the _Pegasus _in her fight against the Cylons. Everything from FTL drives to food to scraps of metal were included in the list and brought aboard.

Third, each ship would, in a matter of days, be stripped down to the outer hull for repair parts. Crews would work overtime to get this done and civilians with proper training would assist. Cain wanted to leave nothing but skeletons hovering in dead space for the enemy to find.

Four, the civilians needed to understand that this was a battlestar operating in a time of war. She was the commanding officer and her word was the end of the line. All they needed to know was that her word was divine, there was no higher authority than her. And, most importantly, she held their lives in her hands and would not hesitate to cut any of them short if the need arose.

Five, each civilian needed to find some job that would increase the efficiency and productivity of _Pegasus_. Cleaning and organization were assigned to the elderly and young. All able-bodied men and women were drafted into either the Marines, the air group, or other departments on board. Selection into which group would be based on prior qualifications and the needs of the battlestar. There would be no choice and they would excel.

To Cain these were all reasonable orders and could be easily met if everyone put their mind to it. When she told these to the group of civilians as they boarded, some were not happy. They wanted autonomy, independence. They were citizens of the colonies and they were entitled to a greater respect than this!

So ungrateful, Cain realized. Civilians didn't understand war, they never would. Autonomy, independence, were luxuries only found in peace. She understood this, understood war, and wondered briefly if taking them all in was a good idea.

The clamor grew until even her voice could not be heard over the roar. She calmly placed a blank into her pistol and fired it above the crowd's head. Silence reigned.

"I do not care how you feel or what you think. This is how it is going to be. If any of you disagree and want out, I will provide you with a means to get back to your ship to wait out for Cylons there. Any takers?"

A dropped sheet of paper fell to the hanger floor. The sound was deafening.

Cain furrowed her brow, thinking, biting the inside of her lip. She thought of home, of Gina, of what led her to this conclusion, this course of action. "I advise everyone to look around you and say your prayers tonight. Be thankful, be oh-so-very thankful that you at least have each other."

With that Cain turned to her right and told Shaw, "get them settled. Use your own judgment when problems arise. I don't want to be disturbed about this, I have a lot of assignments to make."

Shaw nodded, gave a salute, and Cain walked back to the CIC where Fisk waited with the manifests of people and supplies on each ship. It would be a long night.

Cain shifted in bed, stretching her back a little. Was Gina asleep?

Cain took the arm she was playing with and turned it around. She moved her fingers along the slightly wrinkled pads, along the contours of the palm. She learned the curves of the veins all over again before heading to the wrist, to the elbow. She swirled her finger inside the joint before moving back.

She thought of those unsure times when Gina had moved from her quarters and into theirs. Cain had been nervous about what it meant to share your quarters with some else, at least officially. Of course the whole ship knew, much to Gina's delight, yet Cain still kept a tight lid on the gossip that went around in the corridors. She may have to compromise on a few things but privacy and authority would not be, could not be, on that list.

It was when Gina moved into Cain's quarters that she was given an order, the first one in years: leave the admiral at the hatch. And Gina made sure Cain kept that promise. Cain could talk about work, about problems, issues, but she could never act the admiral. They've had this contract for over a month now and she's been pleasantly surprised as to how neatly it worked. There were a few slip ups, particularly one time when Cain had had enough of the slow moving repairs of the Vipers after the comm station attack.

That night was one of the worst in recent memory, coming just a week after Gina had relocated. Cain, already furious, ran through the hatch only to trip on one of the new chairs Gina had set up.

"Where the frak did this come from and why is it in the middle of my frakking quarters?" Cain yelled the moment she regained her precious balance.

"I brought them from my old quarters," Gina said, appearing from the doorway that lead to their private bathroom. Her hair was wet and all that covered her tall body was a thread-bare towel. "We talked about this, you said I could keep the table and chairs up for my network programming."

Cain thought back to that conversation and recalled in perfect detail exactly what she said."I remember, Gina, however what I said was that you could put the _folding_ chairs up _some _of the time. I just don't want permanent chairs in my quarters, do you understand?"

Gina crossed her arms, not amused. "I fully understand that, however, these are not _your _quarters anymore, these are _our _quarters now, Helena. And, in _our_ quarters, we have chairs so that I may contribute to the well-being of _your_ battlestar and _your _crew. Now, do _you_ understand?"

Cain couldn't respond, the anger at Gina's nerve, Gina's insubordination, stung her to the quick. And she knew then that if she didn't leave, if she didn't find some way to channel her growing ire, that things would only get worse.

However, Cain did not flee her quarters, an admiral never runs with her tail tucked between her legs, she just changed direction. She turned sharply on her heel, opened the hatch, and walked briskly to the CAG's office. She had an overwhelming desire to dissect the pilots in their weekly inspection which had, until now, been put aside for the sake of time and expediency. That, she realized, was unacceptable.

Perhaps Lt. Shaw would like to accompany her.

Hours later Cain returned, her anger cooled. Gina was already asleep, she saw, and the chairs were still there. She made a face, thinking. It was a good thing she had to leave the Admiral at the door for this was one battle she could not win.

And the Admiral did not lose.

But it seemed obvious that Helena could.

Cain felt a tug at her hair, bringing her back to the present in a rush.

"What's going on?" Gina whispered softly.

Cain turned to look at her and sighed. "A lot."

"I meant other than the obvious."

"Other than the fact that for the next few weeks, perhaps a month, I'm going to be bogged down with little personnel details?" Cain felt a twinge of emotion and turned to look at the ceiling. If Gina saw it she knew she'd have to explain it, have to think about it, and it was late. Couldn't she just forget about emotions even for a little while with this woman? "I hate it."

"But you're good at it."

"I know."

A chuckle brought Cain's focus back. "You find this funny?"

Gina shifted, sitting up a little to lean on her elbow, her eyes staring directly into Cain's. "I have a feeling that your crew is not on your mind at this present moment and, if it is, I've done a very poor job of providing you with a satisfactory celebration for the night."

Cain rolled her eyes. "Your celebration was more than satisfactory, have no doubt about that."

When Gina smiled brightly Cain lowered her eyes.

"Then what's really on your mind? You seem so far away. Come back."

"I just wonder, sometimes, how it is exactly that I got here, with you, like this."

Gina's smile faded into a frown. Could she read the unspoken qualities Cain's mind always ran to? How could Cain get so weak, so soft, so vulnerable? And should she just quit while she was ahead?

"Like how," Cain continued, uncharacteristically mumbling, "did I ever equate my quarters, my home, with you?"

"Well, I did move in after you brought on those civilians from that rag-tag fleet we found a few months ago. You said it was to conserve space seeing as I always seemed to stay over in your quarters anyway."

Cain murmured in agreement. "It was the logical choice."

Gina laughed lightly. "I'm sure it was. You called it 'relocating' if I remember correctly. But I can see right through you Helena."

"You have special glasses now? I think I'll have to confiscate them."

"Either way," Gina continued, ignoring the last spiteful remark, "it makes sense that you'd now think of me when you think of being home, in your quarters. I'm here too and I don't have much to do other than work on that new program I'm developing."

Was this a piece of fleshy bait Gina was dangling in front of her mouth? Could she really divert the conversation from her to Gina? It was worth a shot.

"How is that going?"

"It's absolutely horrible," Gina began, flopping back down on her side. Her tone had taken on a certain edge and Cain knew a rant was coming, her goal achieved. "I can't believe how many back-doors I found in the original code. I know I told you a rough estimate after the attack but it just keeps growing. I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't just completely rewrite it. It would be a bear to do except everything is just...ugh, it makes me want to cry sometimes! Or laugh. It's so horrible that I just want to laugh. Perhaps both at the same time."

Cain imagined a crying and laughing Gina. It was ridiculously adorable.

"There would probably be lots of hiccups and sobs too," Gina continued as Cain turned to face her. "I'd be so embarrassing that you'd have to put me in the brig until I calmed down."

"I wouldn't throw you in the brig. At least not for that. I'd consider it though."

"Is it the crying or the laughing part that is the offense?"

"I'm not amused."

"Alright, then don't be amused. Really though, what would I have to do to be thrown in there?"

Cain flashed her a disapproving look. "Not much. Do you want to go there? I don't need an excuse, I'll have you know. I send crewmen and captains alike into the brig on a whim."

Gina took a stray piece of dark hair and twirled it around her fingers. "So I don't want to _go_ there, I just like to tease you. But, if you did throw me in the brig, would you visit me?"

"Visit you? The brig is not a place to socialize. It's a place to reflect on what you've done wrong and be punished."

"You'd visit me."

"Don't be so sure."

"I'm sure."

"Visiting would not be an issue. I hear Lt. Thorne has taken a liking to the brig, especially when civilians are brought in for some minor infringement. I'm considering moving him there on a permanent basis if the civilians continue to be a problem. He would always keep you company."

"Thorne? I don't think I like him."

"No, I don't think you do. In fact, didn't you run into him the other day and said he was a 'chubby-'"

"Chubby, bald walking doorstop you wouldn't be able to move with a Raptor tugging on his coat tails. I remember him now." Gina made a face. "No, I think I'll skip the brig this time around."

A moment of silence. It sounded hollow.

Then Gina mumbled, "he doesn't even salute right."

Cain laughed, loud and hard. Gina was right, Thorne never could give her a proper salute. It always came off limp. She'd have to correct it next time she saw him.

Once she had composed herself, she brought her hand to Gina's face, made a circle on her cheek with her thumb, and kissed her gently.

"You're right. You are absolutely right. Next time I'll correct him."

"And tell him it's from me?"

Cain smiled. "And tell him it's from you."

The smug smile she got in return was masked by a yawn. Perhaps it was finally time to rest. Today had been an exhausting day, even if she'd never admit it. Tomorrow only promised to be even more tedious. A meeting with Adama and Roslin was scheduled for 1200 hours and a more thorough inspection of _Galactica_ after that. Then, once she returned to _Pegasus_ there would be more dossiers to look over. Of all the things she should have done tonight sleep was at the top of the list.

Except, she thought, she wouldn't feel this damn good.

Cain rolled over on her back to keep Gina from seeing the warm and positively gooey smile that glued itself to her lips. She needed something to distract her, to put her mind on anything else.

There were times, much like this, that Cain felt guilty to be so happy. How could one be guilty and happy at the same time? Moreover, how could happy bring up feelings of guilt? She knew why, knew how, she just didn't understand why she couldn't let one of them go. Couldn't she just feel happy instead of guilty and happy? She'd settle for just guilty if that's all she could get. Happiness was something she still didn't believe she deserved.

Her smile was gone, replaced by the same somber thoughts that plagued her time and time again. When would she be done taming her ghosts, her demons? Would she ever be? Should she ever be?

"I talked with Commander Adama and, well, President Roslin at length before coming back to _Pegasus_." Cain sighed. "He told me some of his stories, how they escaped the Cylons, found the President, and a few other odds and ends. There's a lot more he hasn't confessed to but his logs will be in my office by tomorrow afternoon so I can go over them in detail. I have a feeling his command needs a bit of restructuring."

"Really?"

"Of course. He's got his son as CAG for one. He'll be the first transferred."

"He still has his son with him?" Gina perked up, running her arm back over Cain's stomach. "I think it's lovely."

"So do they, I imagine. Still, too much of a liability."

"Alright," Gin shrugged, "your call."

"It is," Cain thought back to her earlier conversation with the commander. There was something else he said that kept nagging at the back of her mind, taunting her with unknown knowledge. "Adama says they have a Cylon on board." Ah, that was it. "Supposedly they look like humans now." A stiffening in Gina's shoulders brought Cain's attention back. "Oh, I'm not sure if I believe them, I'll have to see it for myself before I make any conclusions. He claims that valuable information has been...what's the matter?"

Gina's body was frozen, unable to disengage from the locked grip she had on Cain. Her legs were tensed as if she were ready to flee at any moment yet her hands held on tightly to warm flesh like she never wanted to leave. Cain tried unsuccessfully to get Gina to loosen up by taking one of her hands. It wouldn't let go.

"Hey," Cain whispered, bringing her hand instead to cup the face once so full of happiness, "it's alright. She's in a holding cell monitored by guards at all times."

Gina's eyes darted away from Cain's worried expression. "It's not that," Gina began, her voice breaking.

Cain didn't understand, couldn't understand, so for a few moments she watched the emotions play across Gina's face. It unsettled her and a rising panic flooded through her. She had never seen Gina look like this, act like this. Even after the attack on the colonies, the raid on the comm station, and the subsequent boarding by centurions Gina had never looked so scared. In fact, she looked absolutely terrified.

Then Cain saw moisture start to well up in those eyes she'd come to adore. Would tears start to roll down Gina's face? Cain didn't think she could handle that. What should she do? What should she say? Was she expected to offer comforting words? Was it any different than comforting a fellow soldier who had just lost a mate? She could handle that just fine, and had many times, but when it was someone who shared your bed that started to cry....

"Do you," Cain started before stumbling on her words. She was still wrestling with the idea that she wanted to say them, much less mean them. "Do you want to tell me about it? What's," a held breath expelled grudgingly, "bothering you."

Cain didn't know if it was her own discomfort at the whole situation or some other, internal workings that made Gina relax. She felt the muscles, the hands, loosen their hold and the steady feel of warm breath resumed against her breast.

Gina looked up and gave her a shy smile. "No, I'm ok." A pause, allowing Gina to collect her thoughts. "It's just, ah, scarey, I suppose. C-Cylons, as humans? Who's left to trust?"

"I know, it's hard to get a grip on it," Cain replied with a similar smile. "I'm sure that we'll all be able to deal with this new paranoia. _Galactica_ did and I sure won't let them get the upper hand on me in anything. It'll work out, I promise."

It didn't seem to convince either one of them and they drifted off into an uneasy silence. The clock ticked lightly beside Cain. Glancing over she saw it to be 0200. She needed to be up in three hours to be ready for the morning rounds she intended to make before the morning watch. There was bound to be plenty of crew members still hung-over or, worse yet, sleeping. After seeing some of the activities going on last night she had a strong desire to put her foot down and reorder her ship. One night here and there wouldn't hurt the productivity of _Pegasus_ but the gods be damned if she allowed it to spill over into another day.

Suddenly determined to get over this pathetic unease, she turned on her side to find Gina had also turned, showing her back. Perhaps Cain should have read more into the terror, into the strangely cloistered woman usually so open, but Cain could only do what she knew how to do. She plowed through with a stubborn strength and folded Gina into her arms and held her tight. Could she tell Gina how much she worried for her, cared for her, without words?

Her heart swelled with warmth and her throat tightened. It pained her to see Gina so worried, so afraid, and Cain felt powerless. These problems you could not solve by lectures, chastising, or reprimands. So if she couldn't do any of these where could the solution lie?

Desperate for more of the intimacy they had once shared moments ago, Cain laid small kisses along the neck in front of her before nipping lightly at an ear lobe.

"It'll be better in the morning. I'll try not to wake you when I rise," Cain breathed into Gina's ear.

A nod, a sigh, and a squirm backwards was all the reply Cain needed.

Happy now that at least some kind of a compromise was reached, Cain closed her eyes.

And just as she was drifting off to sleep she heard that familiar declaration, the one that was always spoken with such conviction, purpose, passion, and always as she floated away from consciousness.

"I love you."

Cain smiled sleepily. A night wouldn't be complete without this.

"I know."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers**: See first chapter.

**A/N:** I found a beta reader, egalitarianmuse on livejournal, who could put up with my horrible grammar. Many thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Her head ached and no matter how much water she drank the pain would not go away.

Cain waited for her Raptor to touch down on _Galactica_'s deck, thinking idly at all the ways she could have gotten her current headache.

Although it might have seemed obvious, she doubted it was from the few drinks she'd had last night. Even if her alcohol tolerance was especially low, having a few sips now and then didn't bother her. She usually abstained from most alcohol, except in the presence of other officers on a formal or semi-formal occasion. She hated the way it made her feel, how she couldn't keep a firm grip on her actions or emotions. Even from her earliest days as an ensign, she'd kept away from the stuff, ignoring the teasing remarks she received, especially from her fellow Viper pilots. She took it all in stride, focusing instead on getting ahead, on being better than everybody else. Then the day came that she outranked them. No one opened their mouth again. But last night was about celebrating, about letting go, about enjoying life for the first time in months and she was not about to squander the opportunity.

She felt the jolt as the thrusters died and the Raptor touched down.

Perhaps it could have been the rather restless night of sleep she had. She was barely able to get any sleep after that first hour. Gina was constantly moving around and it irritated her to no end. She was normally a very light sleeper--you had to be when you entered the Colonial Fleet, much less became an admiral in command of a battlestar--and with all the tossing and turning happening next to her, she found little peace. At one point she got so fed up with Gina's incessant squirming that she extracted herself from the woman's embrace, deciding instead to find comfort at the edge of the bunk. It lasted all of five seconds before Gina found her again, arms and legs wrapped around her in a haphazard and constraining fashion. After another fifteen minutes of fighting, she gave in and resorted to the relaxation exercises she'd learned on her first full command. 0500 hours couldn't have come any slower.

The hatch opened and her Marines got off before her. She hadn't been fond of taking along a security detail, concerned it might give off the wrong impression, but they had insisted. They believed, much along the same lines as their admiral, that to know a good job was done you had to do it yourself. She got up and walked quietly out.

No, in all likelihood it was the amount of damage control she had to do after the celebrations of the night before. Colonels and crewmen alike were dragging and, with the help of the infallible Lt. Shaw and Colonel Fisk, she mopped up. At first it was a satisfying task, cleaning up house. Then, after the tenth barking, she'd started to wonder if perhaps she was the one failing. Should she have stopped all celebrations of finding _Galactica _and the rest of the ships before it had even started? Should she have worked everyone as if nothing had happened? Should she have even celebrated? Shouldn't she have been working on all of the things still left to do, the transfers, the supplies, the exchange of civilians? How could she have let her guard down like that, allowing herself and, thus, everyone else, a moment's reprieve? Was this the Admiral Cain she thought herself to be?

She took a deep breath in, allowing it to permeate her lungs, her chest, her body. She willed the headache to leave with her exhale, to allow her just a few pain-free hours. Those hours would not be ones of joy, she promised the headache, she would be working hard, working diligently. Could she not trade one pain for another?

The ache wouldn't leave, obviously happy in its current position. In fact, it only grew worse as she opened her eyes to the bright lights of the hangar deck. The lights, like a thousand knives, thrust into her eyes. She took another deep breath while she suppressed a groan of pain.

This migraine had to be the work of the gods for no one thing could produce such anguish. How could she get through hours of meetings, conferences, and sitting? By the gods, how could she?

Then the mantra came back. She hated pills. Hate pills. No pills. Can't take pills. No pills, no pills, no pills.

Pills were for the weak.

But maybe, after all these years, she really was weak. The pain didn't seem to be worth the hassle. Furthermore, if the pain was gone she would be better equipped to handle the issues in front of her, to give it her full attention. Didn't the fleet deserve that? Could there be times when being weak was a _good_ thing?

She turned to the detail leader, motioned for her to come close, and whispered conspiratorially into her ear.

"Go to the sickbay and find me some aspirin, some crackers, and a cup of coffee. Be discreet."

The Marine's face never wavered as she gave Cain a curt nod and then disappeared quickly into the bowels of the battlestar.

* * *

"And you agreed with the President to abandon the offensive front? Ah, thank you, Sergeant."

Cain took the cup in one hand and outstretched the other to accept the hidden gift from the Marine. She calmly brought the hand up to her mouth, tipped the aspirin inside, and drank the coffee. A few crackers were also taken and munched on slowly. She dismissed the Marine with a wave of her hand and the Sergeant went back to join the security detail trailing the officers.

Cain silently cursed the taste of coffee, yet another substance she refused to partake in. Although it did not have the mind altering effects of alcohol, she did not believe in its purpose. If one was prepared, had the necessary sleep, and had trained their mind well, stimulants were not required. Moreover, some stimulants could be detrimental to future operations. Or, worse, you could become addicted. She preferred her mind and body to be unaltered by any substance. But she needed the liquid, the caffeine, for both could help with her migraine. After this cup, which was more caffeine than she had had all year, she still had the full canteen she'd taken with her this morning.

Commander Adama waited patiently for the admiral to finish before answering. "Yes, I agreed with the President after some persuasion on her part."

Cain lightly fingered the rim of the mug. At least the coffee was hot and freshly brewed even if it was not the best cup she had ever had. "I see."

She motioned for them to continue walking towards the briefing room where Roslin would be meeting them in a few minutes. "Have you ever thought of returning to offensive action?"

"There have been times when we were placed on the offensive. I ordered an attack on a Tylium refinery station operated by the Cylons as well as numerous attacks on basestars."

Cain sipped her cup again. It felt like liquid fire running down her throat. "Were the attacks on basetars out of necessity?"

When Adama paused to think, Cain could already deduce the answer. He had only made offense attacks when he needed to, when he had been backed into a corner with no where else to turn. One would consider them offensive strikes in name only, their spirit crushed and their bones broken until only the flesh remained. How could such a docile officer take command of a battlestar, even one as low-key as _Galactica_ had been? It didn't make sense.

"Yes, sir," Adama said, never losing eye contact.

Cain stopped before the briefing room door. Marines were stationed outside, along with the President's aid, so Cain figured the President must be waiting for them inside. There was only one more matter to attend to.

"Commander, as much as I do not want to interfere with your operations, there are a few changes I must make."

Adama didn't blink. For a second she wondered how she might feel if her command was being taken over. It hadn't happened to her in years, one of the obvious perks of being a flag officer, but she could still remember a time when her decisions were not set in stone. She had felt so insignificant, so powerless, and all it had done to her spirit was make it stronger. Now things were different, she controlled the changes. In some far-off corner of her mind, she pitied the man.

"I have a personal networking specialist on-board, a survivor of the attack on the colonies, and she's been working on connecting _Pegasus_'s systems together, firewalled of course. I will be integrating _Galactica_'s systems into this network as well. You will still have complete control of your ship, have no doubt, but it will be easier to coordinate attacks and defensive fire if the two ships were able to communicate with each other. I will have her meet with you in the next few days. I would appreciate it if you could assign one of your own specialists to give her a tour of your systems in the next few days."

Did she really need to ask nicely? Or even play the part of a diplomat soothing ruffled feathers? No, perhaps not, yet it would make things easier for her in the long run to show this simple act of courtesy.

Adama nodded, his expression neutral. "Yes sir."

Cain could see right through his mask, to the pain and frustration underneath. _Galactica _was his, in all of her un-networked glory. She had been laid untouched by the hands of machines, by the same forces that gave intelligence to the Cylons, and now, by some play of the gods, Cain came in and flipped his world, so carefully created, upside down.

Would he feel bitter, Cain wondered as the hatch to the briefing, and the so-called President, opened? Would he protest later, in private? Would he hide his anger away, only to be used at a later time? And then would it grow to some unmanageable size? Had he lost his sense of loyalty, forgotten his training, abandoned his military bearing? Could he so easily relinquish control when he had cherished it for so long? It seemed so easy to her, so simple a problem, except, to him, to the one being jerked around, it must have hit like a fist to the gut.

Should she be concerned? Should she watch him? Should she have someone else watch him, his every move, his every minute facial tick? She would not stand for insubordination, no matter how minor, and would deal with such thoughts quickly. This was her game, her playing field, in which she controlled all the pieces.

Cain took a quiet breath, steeling herself, and spoke calmly. "Good afternoon, Madam President."

* * *

Cain's back and head radiated pain throughout her body with each beat of her heart. The aspirin she'd taken hours ago did little to help with the migraine now. Sometimes, while she listened to Roslin and Adama bicker back and forth, she counted her breaths. It was the only way she could deal with her pain and her frustration.

Inhale. Exhale. In with the fresh, cool, soothing air. Out with the pain, the worry, the suffering.

It worked to a marginal degree. The lights still carved designs out of her eyes and her stomach started to do flips of nausea whenever she moved her head too fast. And don't get her started on her back. It hadn't been this bad in months which was only made worse by the uncomfortable chair she had to sit in for this never-ending meeting. Even when this was finished, when the President had had enough of talk, there was still the tour of _Galactica_ to get to, including a meeting with the Cylon prisoner. That was what she really wanted to get to. Why couldn't she have had desert first?

Roslin started to ask her a question. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Cain pushed the pain away and focused her attention. Only a few more hours before she could go back to _Pegasus_, go back home, and just fall down on her bunk, a glass of water in hand.

"I do have a number of transfer requests that I would like you to look over as soon as possible. My ship, along with my crew, has been squeezed tight ever since we took on those extra civilians a month ago. Of course, the civilians I drafted into my crew will stay aboard and continue with their duties."

Roslin nodded, making a quite note on her pad. "Are there any families we need to be concerned with?"

"Families? They are of no concern."

Roslin's head whipped up, eyes finding Cain's quickly. "Of no concern?"

Cain could feel her temper flare. The overt independence she heard in Roslin's voice grated on her nerves. When was the last time she had been questioned so easily, so freely?

Ah, yes, Belzen. She could remember the occasion, remember him, clearly in her mind.

Her side arm suddenly became heavy on her leg. Even if the thought didn't fully cross her mind it tickled the back of her senses.

Could everything, would everything, be resolved by violence? Was this what they, what she, had become?

"Yes, there are families on board," Cain said, weighing every word carefully before it left her mouth, "and, yes, some have family members that I have drafted into my crew. These families will, unfortunately, have to be broken up. However, they must understand that sacrifices must be made by everyone, not just the few."

Was that a small frown crossing Adama's face? And, if so, why was it mirroring the much larger one now disfiguring Roslin's mouth? Why did Cain feel like she was fighting an uphill battle with these two? When had it become two against one with the odds favoring them? Why was Adama siding with the president and not his direct superior? This did not bode well.

Roslin played idly with her pen. "Is there no way to keep these families together?"

"No."

Roslin made another, smaller note onto her pad. "Alright, I'll see what I can do for you."

Cain wanted to snap. What _she_ could do for _her_? How outrageous. Roslin and Adama should be dancing around her, catering to her every whim. She was in control, in command, and this lack of respect stung her face as if she had been slapped. She took a small, calming breath and bit the inside of her mouth. She could taste blood and the bitter sweetness of it soothed her.

She could get through this.

"Anything else we need to discuss, Admiral?"

"Yes, one other thing. I've heard the talk regarding problems with supplies and a supposed black market. I will be sending out some of my people to investigate these claims and discover any other sources of criminal activity within the fleet. Once found, they will have broad authority to fix these problems. For the time being, I will order all supplies to be handled by, and through, _Pegasus_."

Roslin seemed to tense, taking a moment to compose herself before responding. "The black market I have heard of and has been on my agenda for quite some time." She put her pen down carefully and neatly folded her hands in her lap. Cain thought she looked almost innocent, naïve, harmless. It was a good tactic. "However, with all due respect, I believe this is a civilian matter-"

"Yes," Cain interrupted, getting even more irritated by the minute, "I have heard of your 'agreement' with Commander Adama and, for the most part, I agree with the compromise. Yet, you seem to have let this problem slide. Supplies, resources, medicines, and personnel are being wasted and this is just unacceptable. I worry that you find it so easy to ignore."

"Admiral, I assure you, I have not ignored this problem."

"Then, what have you done?"

"My hands have been tied up for some time with-"

"With what, Madam President? With your jail sentence, subsequent escape, and your resumption of power once you finally decided to reconcile your differences with a wounded officer?"

Did Roslin pale just a little? Did Cain find a soft spot to squeeze? Her mood started to lighten.

Cain felt a smirk color her face. "Yes, you have been tied up for some time now."

Adama squirmed as Roslin's silence continued for a few moments longer. Would he speak up to defend her? That, Cain decided, would be worth seeing.

"However, in the name of cooperation, I would be willing to assemble a new team consisting of my crew and your civilians that would have each of our blessings to crack down on crime and violence within the fleet. Is this acceptable?"

Roslin's innocence, her hesitance, left just as quickly as it came and she stared straight into Cain's eyes. Cain felt like she was being scrutinized, studied, analyzed for any weakness, for any insincerity, for any character flaws she might wear on her sleeve like a broken heart. She laughed inside. Her walls, her mask, were impenetrable and her weaknesses were carefully boxed away. No matter who was doing the examination, she would excel.

The two stared at each other for some time, tension filling the room like an airlock being re-pressurized. Could one see the air of confidence one woman presented or recognize the intense focus on the other?

Finally, Roslin nodded. "Acceptable."

Cain smiled. It felt genuine. "Excellent." She glanced at the clock behind Roslin. "We certainly have been here for a while and there is still the tour of _Galactica _to take. So, if you will excuse me and the Commander, I would like to get started."

The three of them stood up in unison. Even with the agreement just reached, the mood still felt strained. Cain wondered briefly, but thoroughly, about the impression she wanted to leave the President with. Should she be cordial or commanding? How about understanding, willing to work things out? What about a diplomatic stance? Should she be assuming, refuse to acknowledge the power the other woman had?

Perhaps the best way to deal with the situation was to not deal with it at all and just let it be.

Cain held out her hand. "Thank you, Madam President, for your time and attention. I hope that, in the future, our meetings will be just as fruitful."

Roslin's smile was thin, reserved, and doubtful. But Roslin smiled.

"Thank you, Admiral, and I too hope for the best."

* * *

How was it that they could look just like us?

Cain never put much stock in magic, or the gods, but for this she would make an exception. And for the first time in years, she felt scared.

If Cylons looked like humans, really looked like them, then what was left? What could they hold sacred, close to their hearts? What happened to the days of being able to look your enemy in the eye and knowing it was them? What had happened to simpler times? When had everything gotten so complicated?

"Meet, well, Sharon Valerii. Or, at least, one of the many copies," Dr. Baltar said, clearing his throat in a nervous manner.

"Meet?" Cain asked while crossing her arms, the Cylon the center of her attention.

The Cylon did not look amused, standing up and crossing its own arms. How could a machine look defiant, Cain wondered.

"I may be a Cylon," it spoke, "but I am alive."

Skeptical, Cain thought briefly on how a thing could be alive. The idea left a sour taste in her mouth.

"You seem to treat your prisoners well."

"Yes, we, ah, find it helps to treat them with a little humanity," Baltar replied.

Cain's head continued to pound, the pain in her back made each second an agony to stand up straight, and her nails bit into her arms. Could a Cylon feel the type of pain she had? Did they recognize perseverance? Bearing? Fortitude? Could they ever understand what made her continue to hold her head up high and her body as straight as a rod no matter what the pain was, no matter what the cost?

She laughed at the thought. It was outrageous.

She studied the Cylon, wondering if it had any emotions—or thoughts, behind that human-looking face. If she didn't know any better, she would have said the Cylon looked agitated.

"I guess we've come across another battletar then," it spoke.

Cain dug her fingers even harder into her arm.

"Have you gained any intelligence from it?"

Baltar shifted on his feet. "Ah, yes, we have gained some, well, information from her. In fact, on several occasions, she has provided useful information. Vital information, even."

"On some occasions?" Cain's voice's held an edge of suspicion to it.

"She helped on Kobol, finding the Tomb of Athena for us. There was also a case, ah, a few weeks ago where we were attacked by a Cylon logic bomb." Baltar paused and out of the corner of her eye, Cain saw him glance to a corner of the cell. "Yes, yes, very helpful."

Cain was unconvinced.

And she'd had enough. Without a nod, a word, or a look, she left the Cylon in its cell.

Adama was waiting for her outside the cage, his arms relaxed at his side. When she turned to face him, she saw those same arms tense.

"You treat your prisoners well," she accused. "Is there a particular reason for this?"

Adama looked unfazed. "Numerous interrogation techniques have been used. However, we have found that by treating them as the humans they believe they are equivalent to has yielded the best results."

Cain could almost see the words he wasn't saying, could almost hear them ringing around in her head with all of his hollow sentiments. But that inquiry was not for today.

No, she wanted to be done with this. She wanted to go back home, to _Pegasus_, and nurse her migraine and back ache. Tomorrow she could start anew, get a fresh start, and go over everything with an eager mind. So, only this one time would she let Adama off the hook.

"That is unsatisfactory," Cain began, putting her hands on her hips and dug into them, hard. "And I will expect you to have an explanation for me tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

Cain turned to find Baltar just exiting the cell, smiling. Whatever could Baltar be smiling about?

"Dr. Baltar, I would like you to accompany me on my way back to the hangar deck, please. Commander," Cain said before looking at Adama once again, "I appreciate the time you've given me thus far. A weekly meeting is in order. I'm sure we will be in contact before then."

Adama nodded and brought his arm sharply up to his forehead in what Cain considered to be a near-perfect salute. He must have been practicing. She returned the salute with equal precision and felt like her headache lessened just a tiny amount.

Cain and Baltar started walking towards the hangar, leaving Adama behind. It took a few moments of going through hatches and maneuvering around people before Baltar could walk side-by-side with her.

"I have a networking specialist working on _Pegasus_ that would very much like to meet with you," Cain started when she could see Baltar out of the corner of her eye. "She's been working on your code for some time and she has a few," Cain paused. How best to put this? "Questions she would like answered."

Baltar stopped dead in his tracks, his face taunt with fear. His eyes darted between Cain's and an empty spot in the corridor. It seemed like he couldn't figure out which one was more important: her or an empty hole.

Cain got even more annoyed. She didn't understand Baltar at all. He was rude, obnoxious, and unfocused. This did not seem to be the same man that she had hard about in the news and seen on the media vids. She wondered how such an inattentive and scattered man could have been so successful and popular. Had something traumatic happened to him after the fall of the colonies? Had he been scarred by something he'd seen there? Did he feel guilty over how his code had been used by the Cylons during the attack? Or was he really just psychotic?

After a few moments, he shook his head and returned his gaze to Cain.

"Yes, yes, certainly. I would, ah, be delighted to, of course. Do you know what she may be inquiring about? Any, um, idea?"

"I believe she is trying to replace some of the backdoors found in the code that the Cylons used to break through our defenses during the attack. She was hoping to gain some insight as to how you developed the code and maybe work with you to prevent further infiltration to the system in the future."

Baltar's face lit up. "Yes, yes, that would be good. I'm sure I can do that."

"Does tomorrow morning work for you?"

Baltar looked like he wanted to say no, that he was working on other, much more important things to do. Then, he glanced over Cain's shoulders, to that spot he kept looking at, and tilted his head.

Cain was certain that if this man had been under her control she would have thrown him into the kitchens or, more likely, out the airlock. His carelessness was dangerous.

He whipped his head back to face her, a smile shining. "That sounds perfect."

"Well then, Dr. Baltar, I will tell Ms. Inviere to meet you on _Galactica_ at 0900 hours tomorrow morning."

"I look forward to it."

Cain turned to leave, just reaching the hatch to the hangar deck, when Baltar spoke up. "And it's Mr. Vice-President, Admiral."

Cain shook her head minutely, only enough to give her satisfaction but not enough for Baltar to see. She decided not to answer and continued forward.

She could finally go home.

* * *

Aboard the Raptor, Cain finally had time to herself. She needed to give all of the information she had received today time to digest, to let it sit in her mind for a few peaceful moments, before she could make any use of it. Right now she had the luxury of time and she was eternally grateful.

Unfortunately, her pain had not left her. But neither had it gotten worse. She had to count her blessings, even if they were small.

She shifted in her chair. She was ready to be up and off her ass. Meetings were only good to a point, after that you needed action, initiative, forward movement. Now was the time for such progress. If only she knew what that progress was. She needed to do more thinking, planning, before making a decision. She had ideas, ill-formed as they were, but still, she needed time. And time was the one thing she was sure she had very little of.

Cain began to make a list in her tired mind of all the things she needed to take care of in the immediate future. The more she thought about these things the more she knew that they wouldn't get done today. She kept thinking of her cool, clean bunk and how great it would be to finally lay down.

Then another, almost unwelcome, thought entered her mind: Gina would be there.

Throughout the day Cain had actively worked at keeping the woman out of her thoughts, out of her mind, so that she could stay on-track. Even if she would allow herself the pleasure of thinking about being in bed and relatively pain-free, she would not allow herself the idea of thinking of Gina while working. This would amount to daydreaming and such useless thoughts would only crowd out the more important, tactical ones she needed to have today.

But what about now, a part of her brain asked. Couldn't she daydream now, so close to home and that pain-free comfort she'd been thinking about all day?

She rested her head against the hull, staring with heavy lids out the window. They had finally left _Galactica._

Perhaps it would be acceptable to daydream now. Just for a short while, of course.

Then again, she wasn't really sure if she knew how to daydream. It couldn't be that hard, she mused. All she had to do was think of something that made her happy and then, well, go with the flow. She was pretty certain that was how one went about it. Perhaps she should start by thinking of what Gina was doing at this moment.

She was probably working with Shaw on the networking program. Cain smiled to herself. The sounds of that incessant typing did wonders for her insomnia. Could comfort be a sound? And what about domesticity?

Or perhaps Gina was enjoying a dinner, playing a game of Triad with some of the friends she had made on-board. She had organized her own class on integrating the civilians into the military lifestyle and protocol found on _Pegasus_ and, through this, had found quite a few people who'd latched onto her as some sort of beacon. It was probably easier for them to see her as an authority figure, who was very much approachable, than Cain, the distant, but still very much in command, Admiral. Many times Gina had related the recent troubles from the civilians, most of which had been legitimate concerns, which Cain had attended to as soon as she could.

In some ways, Gina had become the public relations official. This didn't surprise Cain at all. Gina was very much a people-person. She could relate to them, talk with them, and, most important of all, listen to them. She just had this certain mixture of charisma and charm that made everyone like her. It was hard to find anyone who didn't like her which helped once the gossip made its rounds when Gina moved in with the admiral. Much easier.

And, now that Cain had a chance to let her mind wander, she was sure that even the angry Cylon would like Gina.

The Cylon.

The words entered her mind unbidden. The whole concept terrified her, more than she would admit even to herself, and the whole ordeal had taken a much larger toll on her than she had previously imagined.

Suddenly, she had come face-to-face with her demon and, much to her horror, it had stared right back.

She'd read no remorse behind those life-like eyes, no pity, no sorrow. Did it not know what it had done to all of those people? Did it not feel guilty over all of the lives taken? Did it not know of the sacrifices made by ordinary people, by those not made to excel? Did it not see firsthand the millions of lives lost?

And some part of her had wanted to scream at it. "Do you know what you've done to me?"

But no, Cain did not scream, or whisper, anything. She had just looked her nightmare in the face and calmly ignored it. For what else could she have done? When had nightmares become real? When had the feeling of fear become tangible? When had her sorrow, her guilt, her shame, become flesh and blood?

Cain felt her stomach clench, feeling sick all over again.

Cylons that looked like humans. Before this, Cylons had been almost an abstract thought, an idea, a machine, that had run amok. Now it had a face, it had the illusion of a soul, and, somehow, it made all the difference.

The Raptor touched down on the hangar deck of _Pegasus_, jolting Cain from her thoughts. When had they gotten to _Pegasus_? Why hadn't she noticed? Had she been sleeping? When had she closed her eyes? Had she just drifted away from the conscious realm and into her own little world?

How unlike her. She couldn't remember the last time she had done anything like this, even in the most stressful and trying of times. Never, even after days of just hours of sleep, had she ever done anything remotely like this.

Cain sighed. She didn't feel like delving into her deeper cognitive processes right now. Whatever it meant was what it meant and, if she were to be honest with herself, she found she rather enjoyed whatever it was anyway. She just didn't need to make it a regular occurrence.

A few minutes later, she stepped off the Raptor and onto the deck of _Pegasus_. She took in a deep breath, smelling _Pegasus_, before moving forward again.

This was what home must smell like.

* * *

After stopping five times for different, small, insignificant issues, Cain finally reached her quarters. Her head was pounding worse than ever and her back was intolerable. She needed it all to just stop. Then, when she finally opened the hatch to get inside, she found Gina waiting at her computer station, sitting with her back hunched over. She looked small, weak, and vulnerable.

"Now, what is the matter with you?" Cain yelled, her irritation, pain, and anger hitting the one person she knew could take it, could understand it.

If Cain had been in a good mood, she would have called Gina on it, saying in a teasing tone that she looked like a Cylon had just walked in. Instead, Cain found it entirely annoying and unreasonable.

Gina looked up, fear unmistakeable in her wide eyes. She didn't move, didn't speak, didn't blink.

Cain clenched her eyes shut, gnawing at the inside of her bottom lip. She gave up. Just plain old gave up. She didn't care anymore. Nope, not at all.

Cain opened her eyes, a grunt escaping her, and she walked into the room. She hadn't quite thought this part through, her focus only on getting back, on getting home, and not entirely on what she would do upon reaching it. Yes, a glass of water should be first, but she didn't know what she should do next. Should she do her stretches to relieve the tension in her back or lay down and rub her temples for a few minutes? Or did she need to take care of Gina and figure out what was going on?

Obviously nothing on today's agenda would be easy.

Gina spoke just as Cain reached her sink, cup in hand.

"How did the tour go?" Gina asked, her voice trying to sound casual, speaking like she didn't care.

Cain filled the glass to the brim. She looked at it for a moment, as if trying to deduce the correct way to get the water to enter her body. Then, in a fit of emotion, she let the glass fall back into the sink. She lowered her head, turned the tap back on, and filled her hands with water. She then doused her face in it, letting the cool liquid wash over her, granting her some reprieve from the migraine still following her every move. It was heavenly.

Cain grabbed the nearest towel, water falling neatly from her nose to the floor, and dried her face. She felt moderately better.

"Gina," Cain sighed, letting the towel drop carelessly to the floor. She turned to get another glass of water, speaking over her shoulder. "The tour was fine, nothing of importance. You do have a meeting with Dr. Baltar before I forget. You need to be on _Galactica _at 0900 hours tomorrow." Another sigh. "Look, I'm sorry but I'm just not in the mood to talk, I've been doing it all day. My head hurts, my back feels like it's on fire, and all I want to do is just go to bed."

Cain still didn't move, instead opting to drink the glass of water. After a few moments, Cain could hear ruffling behind her and then a loud thump. She turned, her stomach just about ready to explode upwards in the most unpleasant way, but what she saw made the pain worthwhile.

Gina had somehow managed to bring down, unfold, and cover the old cot they had stashed away for Cain's back problems. Even though it had become something of a rarity over the past month, for the longest time Gina would massage Cain's back whenever the chronic pain would start again. It took only thirty minutes for the pain to go away under Gina's skilled hands with a technique that had taken hours of practice to perfect, and after a good night's sleep Cain would be as good as new, or as good she would ever be, in the morning.

"Come on," Gina said, rubbing her hands with a lotion she had found with the cot, "get undressed and up on here."

Cain just stared at her, incredulous. How could she have forgotten this? For too many weeks to count it had been her only solace from the horrors of commanding a broken ship and crew. And now, in a similar moment of need, it was laid out to her, welcoming her, beckoning her. It was wonderful.

Gina, her earlier terror somehow forgotten, put down the bottle of lotion. "Well, do you want a back rub or not?"

Cain snapped out of it, hands flying to her uniform. She undressed quickly, surely, quietly, moving towards the cot in a few long strides. She flopped on the bed, face first, with a loud exhale and waited with as much patience as she could manage for Gina to begin.

It didn't take long and soon cold hands were moving their way up and down Cain's back in smooth, strong strokes. For an hour, Gina worked on Cain's back and neck, kneading the ache out of Cain's muscles and bones. Every time she hit a particularly sore or rough spot Cain would gasp and let the pain leave her body with that puff of air. But when Gina changed tactics and worked instead on the areas she knew to be Cain's soft spots a quiet moan could be heard.

By the time Cain's eye lids stared to drop all but the most insistent pangs had left her. Gina had, once again, worked miracles on her back and neck, and left her feeling nearly weightless. The small circles Gina made on her back, pressing into her at all of the right places, made her feel like one big, warm pile of goo. And when she started thinking in terms of goo and warm, Cain knew it was time to hit the sack.

Cain tried to get Gina's attention, to tell her that it was time to get into bed, but it all came out in one large, muffled, "merf."

The loving hands on her back stopped. "What was that?"

Cain groaned. This time she tried to point.

"Ready for bed, is that it?"

The effort required to nod felt monumental, but nod Cain did and with an enormous amount of help, she got up off the cot and into her bunk.

When she felt the covers being pulled and tucked in around her body, Cain tried to say thank you. What came out was unintelligible.

"Shh," Gina hushed, soothing over black hair. "Close your eyes now."

Cain nodded her head, the words flowing in and out of her. She didn't quite understand what they meant so she just gave up and fell asleep.

* * *

"Eat your breakfast."

Cain looked at Gina, forgetting the bar still held within her hand. Gina had a thing for breakfasts while Cain tended to forgo them. Since Gina moved in, Cain hadn't missed a single one.

They were both in a better mood this morning. Cain had shed herself of the pain that had troubled her the previous day and Gina seemed to have discarded the uncharacteristic behavior of the past day or so. Cain felt like everything had gone back to normal, or as normal as they could ever be, and all they had needed was a few hours sleep.

Scrunching up her face in distaste, Cain chewed on her bar.

"I hate these," Cain remarked between bites.

Gina tugged on the sides of Cain's uniform before folding the inner flap in and proceeded to button it up. "It's either that or you sit down and have a bowl of oatmeal before your shift."

Cain sighed. "No thanks, not enough time."

Gina smiled, finishing up the buttons on that side before moving on to the other. "Then stop your complaining."

Cain swatted Gina's hands away and moved back. "I don't complain."

Gina rolled her eyes and took a step forward, hanging onto Cain's jacket. "You complain _and _you act like a petulant child."

For good measure Cain struggled with Gina for a moment before giving up, eating the last bite of her breakfast. It was cold, hard, and dry in her mouth but anything was better than oatmeal, which tended to remind her of the horrible mess hall visits she'd had as a young commander.

Gina worked hard at the buttons on Cain's uniform, wiping them off with her thumb before fitting them snugly through the hole. It had become one of their treasured rituals since sharing the same space. One morning, after a particularly rough night of sleep, Cain had a hard time getting her uniform together, cursing wildly at either not being able to find it or, when she did, how she couldn't work it for the first time in years. Gina had crawled out of the warm bed and helped Cain put it on, coaxing her like a patient mother. How they actually settled into doing it morning after morning, neither could remember but both could recall that first time. Cain looked forward to it every morning.

When Gina finished, Cain tried to look down at her uniform but her chin was pushed up by Gina's hands.

"Your uniform is fine. Don't you trust me?" Gina asked teasingly.

"In general? Yes," Cain paused, a playful smile growing fast on her lips. "With my uniform? No."

Gina grabbed Cain by the coat collars, disturbing the perfectly straight angles of the uniform, and placed a resounding kiss on Cain's lips.

"Too bad. Now get out of here!"

Cain, her early insolence forgotten, gave Gina another quick kiss before heading for the hatch. "Enjoy your stay on _Galactica_," she called back, "and watch out for Baltar. He's a bit strange."

She heard a laugh and a "Will do" just before the hatch closed.

* * *

Cain stood silently in the CIC. She needed to make her presence known after a few days' absence from her command post after being aboard _Galactica _for so long. She was still in command of this battlestar even if she had another one to look after. She still remembered her first born. Always.

She glanced back over her notes and _Galactica_'s logs. The personnel issues would never end.

"Admiral," Lt. Hoshi spoke, bringing Cain's attention back, "_Galactica_ actual wants to speak with you."

Cain sighed and glanced at the clock. It was only 0930 hours and she had anticipated at least another four hours before she needed to speak with Adama once more. This was entirely unexpected.

She picked up the receiver at the center console and spoke clearly. "_Pegasus_ actual, go ahead."

"Admiral Cain," Adama spoke, his voice sounding angry, accusing, suspicious. "Were you aware that you were harboring a Cylon?"

Cain grew puzzled and just as suspicious. "Harboring a Cylon? That's quite a-"

"You sent over a Cylon in your latest Raptor. I believe she goes by the name of Gina Inviere."

Cain could have sworn she felt time stop.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank you all for your kind words/reviews. I'm glad you enjoy reading this fic as much as I love writing it. I really meant to reply to all of you but I'm just a nitwit when it comes to these things. Know that I had kind words back to each of you, they just got lost in translation.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Laughter erupted in the CIC, turning heads and placing puzzled expressions on everyone present.

"Please, Commander," Cain said, covering her mouth with her free hand, "that's preposterous."

"Admiral," his tone sounded serious, slightly diffusing Cain's nervous laughter, "the President, the Vice-President, a number of my officers, and myself have all seen this woman before, months ago. The only explanation currently available is that she is a Cylon."

Cain's hand dropped, grasping the center console tightly. The dried and caked blood eliciting horrible sounds when they resisted against her nails.

"She has been placed in the cell with the other Cylon, demanding to see you, and refusing to answer any questions that she's been asked."

It was then that everything seemed to slow down. Voices and movements became distorted in her view, once crisp lines becoming blurred as people went about their business, everything normal to them. And as she watched the empty DRADIS above her, eyes staring unblinkingly, the vivid colors morphed into flares of light. The central air hummed its steady tune, snapping out sharp pulses of air, brushing harshly against the hairs on her neck.

Everything felt surreal, impossible. Everything stopped.

Cain began unconsciously to count her breaths. One breath, two. Three breaths, four.

Her heart seemed to slow, its pace frighteningly sluggish. Somehow, through a force or training unknown to her, she felt calm, composed, in command. She could at least take some comfort in that.

"She does not deny that she is a Cylon," Adama supplied.

Cain felt a slight jolt, much like a punch to the gut. Was she breathing? Could she see anything? Was she still standing?

"Sir?" Adama's accusing tone was no longer there, replaced only with anxiety.

Cain cleared her head with a slight shake, visibly pulling herself together as she straightened her back.

"I will be over shortly. _Pegasus_ out."

* * *

They were wasting fuel.

Cain sat quietly in her chair, hands rubbing delicate patterns into each other, thinking of how she was wasting fuel by traveling to _Galactica _so often. She was using up precious resources, ones that were not always easily obtained, and all for her own precious needs. It was selfish, inconsiderate, and unprofessional but, most of all, entirely needed.

Except the whole situation was absurd. She imagined herself waking up at any moment now, finding herself still in the CIC, or even back in bed. She was not flying aboard a Raptor, worrying her hands like an anxious ensign.

She pulled out her knife, fishing it out from the confines of her uniform. She played with it, folding and unfolding the blade as her eyes graced over its familiar curves, its well loved angles. She wondered when was the last time she had sharpened it as she ran her finger over the edge. It felt dull, worn, almost fragile. What was a knife without its edge?

She pressed the tip of it into the palm of her hand, grunting softly when it made an indent into her skin. She withdrew the blade, inspecting her hand for any sign of injury. No blood, no cut, no wound. Nothing.

For a quick moment she questioned if she was alive.

She snapped the blade closed and quickly placed it back in her pocket. They had landed on _Galactica_'s deck, the jolt quickly becoming familiar to her after so many months of a stationary existence.

When the pilot called the all-secure, she stood up, smoothing over the wrinkles in her uniform with a slightly quavering hand. Had it just been this morning that it had been buttoned up with gentle fingers? She suddenly stopped and clenched her hands into fists.

She held them tighter and tighter together, nails biting deep, but no matter how hard she tried her palms kept their resistance, their rebellion, their betrayal.

The side of the Raptor opened and Cain got off, took a cleansing breath, and walked calmly toward the waiting Commander and President. She decided that _Galactica_ smelled like oil and the horrible fumes the Vipers gave off and she longed for the cleanliness of her own hangar.

She looked in on the cell, forcing her eyes to focus past the wire mesh and onto the objects held within it. She saw the Cylon in the back, sitting on the bed with a smug look on her face, and she had a strong desire to march into that cell and pound it out of the Cylon. Getting smugged at was not something she was accustomed to.

Gina, however, was standing with an incredible degree of patience in the middle of the cell, hands held behind her back. Cain wondered how Gina could deal with what must be a huge degree of injustice. She still couldn't believe that Adama and company were telling the truth. She was certain that there was a reasonable explanation for everything that had transpired, both now and in the past. There just had to be.

The door to the cell opened and Cain saw her Marines move in quickly in front of her. Even if she didn't believe the accusation, they didn't seem to be taking any chances. As Cain followed she saw them form a threatening circle around Gina, rifles pointed unwaveringly at her chest. It sickened her to see this happening before her eyes, and an undeniable urge to command the Marines to stand down, or even to step in front of them to form some sort of protective barrier around Gina, almost overwhelmed her. However, she knew that such urges had to be controlled, at least for the moment.

She crossed her arms, coming to a stop right before Gina, looking into unreadable eyes. Cain felt like smiling.

"I assume you know why you have been placed in here by Commander Adama," she said, her voice giving away her discomfort.

When Gina nodded her head, Cain grew puzzled, almost worried. There was none of the vehement denial that she had anticipated, no outraged shouting, no incessant pleading for her to make things right again. Instead there was quiet resignation.

She clenched her arms tightly. "He accuses you of being a Cylon."

"Yes, I know."

A moment of silence was held while Cain let out a shaky breath. She felt her insides trembling.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

For the first time, Gina looked away, preferring instead the cold comfort of the floor. "I promised myself that," she began, her voice breaking slightly, "that I wouldn't-"

Her hands came up to clutch at her upper arms, as if she was trying to hold herself together, to keep from falling apart at the seams. "That I wouldn't lie to you," she finally managed to squeak out.

Cain felt her chest tighten, her lungs straining against her ribs. Everything felt suddenly heavy, the air surrounding her like thick molasses.

"Then don't," she heard herself snarl, all kindness and humor having left her voice.

Gina looked up and visibly paled. They stared at each other for a moment, oblivious to the others around them, and in that moment Cain felt her hope leave.

"I'm a Cylon."

The sound of metal hitting skin reverberated through the cell, ringing loudly in Cain's ears. Slightly startled, it took her a few seconds to understand what had happened. She glanced between the Marine to her right, his rifle, and the large wound now seen on the Cylon's face, blood trickling slowly down its cheek. It was bright red.

She held up her arm, lazily pointing her index finger toward the ceiling, stalling any further motion the Marine might make. He turned his head slightly, seeing her out of the corner of his eye, and nodded.

Cain stood there for a minute, looking directly into the Cylon's eyes, seeing a new creature for the first time. She then found herself focusing on the physical sensations assailing her. She had to consciously will her heart to beat, force her lungs to fill with air, and command her legs to keep her upright. But with every passing moment it became harder and harder to do.

Her breath caught in her throat, unable to get around the lump forming there, and for a few crucial seconds she was unaware of her actions. She saw herself flick her finger and felt the wince inside when the Marine struck the Cylon again. This time he took a good step towards it before bringing the butt of his rifle against its bloodied cheek.

Cain saw the Cylon stumble back, clutching its right cheek, a muffled cry issued from its mouth. She felt nothing.

In the background, the other Cylon started to get up only to be pushed back down roughly by one of the Marines. Its face look curiously concerned. Cain was unaware things could feel, let alone show, concern, particularly for another thing.

The Cylon before her straightened up, lowering its hand to show another cut forming beautifully next to the first. Hurt and defiance shined brightly in its eyes.

"You know what?" It began, forcing a smile upon its lips. "That's okay, Helena. That's okay."

Cain said nothing in return. Her face felt like it had turned into stone.

"Look," it began again, "I really wanted to talk to you. About," it paused, taking a deep, shaky breath in, "about what's really, I mean-"

The Cylon fidgeted, its obvious anxiety bleeding through into its movements.

"I just wanted to talk to you," it started again, its voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't think you'd want everyone around to hear it."

Cain continued to stare. Words were meaningless.

The Cylon grew exasperated, its hand moving to cup its face, only to find the still fresh cut. Cain could see resolve and determination solidifying on its face, eyes becoming resolute on its purpose. It unnerved her.

"Fine," it spoke again, arms hanging tightly to is side, hands bunched into fists. Its words smelled like poison. "If you won't listen to me then speak to Kendra."

Cain shouldn't have been this surprised, or this hurt, yet everything hit her again like a jab to the stomach.

"Lt. Shaw?" she heard herself squeak out. A part of her was sick inside.

"She knows just about everything," the Cylon replied, "and she might be able to explain things better than me. I have a feeling you'll be more apt to listen to her than myself." It paused for a minute, fists curiously unclenching. "If you could only get over yourself for a few minutes you might actually hear the meaning behind the words."

The Cylon closed its eyes and sighed. When it opened its eyes, Cain saw compassion, understanding, and acceptance burning inside like a bright flame. Or, at least that's what she would have seen if those eyes were real, were human.

And then Cain had had enough. Seeing these fake emotions on a face she once held dearly was more than enough to turn her stomach and she'd had enough of the lies and half-truths filing neatly into her ears. Without another word, without another glance, she turned calmly on her heel and strode purposefully out of the cell, Marines following.

She didn't have any time to breathe, to compile herself as she found Adama and Roslin waiting for her. She clenched her hands into tight fists of annoyance when Roslin spoke up.

"The Cylon called you by your first name," Roslin said, her voice tainted with unsaid accusations.

Cain placed her hands on her hips and regarded the President, and the Commander behind her, with as much professionalism as she could muster.

"Yes, it did."

Roslin motioned towards the cell with her head, eyes never wavering. "Did you have a personal relationship with her?"

"If I did then it was of no concern to you."

"It is of concern to me," Roslin countered. "It is a liability to have the commanding military officer of my fleet be involved with a Cylon."

"I am not involved with a Cylon," Cain growled, her nails digging into her hips, "on a professional or personal level."

"That did not-"

"Madam President," Adama spoke up, stepping out slightly from behind the President and into her line of sight. "I'll have you recall that I allowed Lt. Agathon to return to active duty without any trial. I believe Admiral Cain should be treated with the same courtesy."

If Cain hadn't been so grateful for a reprieve from the hissing match the President and she were about to enter, she would have been horrified at her apparent need to be defended by a subordinate officer.

Roslin looked at Adama, quickly redirecting her ire to the unflinching man. An agreement seemed to pass between them and Cain had a feeling that the two were trying to present a united front against her, an alliance of some sort. At least Roslin seemed to be.

Roslin shook her head and turned back to Cain. "Very well."

With this Cain started to feel the weight of her emotions bear down on her. Her mind went back to the Cylon standing behind a wall of bullet-proof glass and mesh wire. Then, without hesitation, it went to Shaw. Her stomach flipped again. She needed to double-time it back to _Pegasus_ and arrest the lieutenant for questioning.

Then there was also her anger at the President's demands wearing quickly away at what little patience and sanity she had left.

"Excuse me, Madam President, but I have matters to attend to back on _Pegasus_," Cain spat,.

Not caring for the words still spilling from Roslin's lips, she motioned to her Marines, turned quickly, and left the room.

* * *

Battlestars all looked the same inside: grey, hollow, empty, and uninviting. They all had the same familiar layout too, as long as one knew the general plan the individual personality quirks of each ship became simple to ignore.

Cain easily walked down the corridor, head held high while avoiding all eye contact with _Galactica's _crew. Their stares, their simple nods of recognition, grated against her nerves.

It was a strange sensation to have her head feel so empty, so void of any thoughts, she decided. Even her shoulders, her chest, seemed light, free from worry or emotion. Instead, all of her anger, disgust, and sadness merged in her stomach, forming a tight ball that moved sickeningly up and down with each step she took. She could almost imagine that ball growing, getting bigger and bigger the more hate she threw at it, slowly working its way up her body and into her throat.

Cain's eyes widened slightly in panic as she stopped dead in her tracks. She took stock of her surroundings, seeing all of the wide and curious faces, and just as quickly resumed her pace. It was faster than before, carrying more purpose, and she rounded the nearest corner. Straight ahead was a hatch, much busier than the rest, with steam emanating from the closing doorway as people went in and out. She walked quickly towards the washroom, Marines trailing obediently in her wake. She opened the hatch, ignoring all questioning looks, and found to her great relief the much-scorned first sink open.

Cain walked calmly over to it, placed her hands on either side, and became violently ill, staining the porcelain with her failings.

She could feel the stares of dozens of enlisted personnel and officers alike and she cursed her impatience. If she had only found a toilet stall she would have had at least the illusion of privacy instead of this open acknowledgment of her sickness. And so she buried her face even more into the sink, squinting her eyes tightly, as if that was the root of her salvation. Her hands curled against the edges, nails finding no purchase on the smooth sides.

As the second knot made its way up and out of her body, Cain dimly heard shouts, which were then followed by groans and a flurry of movement. In the back of her mind she recognized the shouting voice as the one that belonged to the leader of her security detail, the infallible Marine sergeant that had gotten her aspirin just a day ago. She opened her eyes and, without moving her head, glanced around the washroom.

Her Marines were moving everyone out, shepherding them like stray cattle, unconcerned that some of them only wore a thin towel. Most didn't resist, Cain saw, while the few that did found themselves balking at the prospect of going up against a group of Marines in full combat gear. Within a few seconds, the hatch closed with a snap and she was alone.

Some time passed before her stomach settled down, resorting now to only dry heaves to torment her. Only when they stopped did she let go of her iron grip on the sink and turned on the tap. The water washed everything down the drain, echoing loudly in the empty room, but like all things worth forgetting, Cain knew the stain would always be there.

She looked up, finally seeing herself in the mirror. She saw the sweat collecting at her temples, the threat of tears framing her eyes, and the hint of red coloring her cheeks. She took a deep breath, noticing also the hollow stare, the hunched back, and the trembling lips.

What she saw before her was a broken woman, one that couldn't possibly be Admiral Cain.

No, this woman in the mirror was a disgrace, a pretender, a fraud. She was weak, flawed, imperfect and unafraid to let everyone know of her faults. She let her emotions guide her, knew of nothing else, and was a liability to not only the safety of her crew but the success of any and all operations in the war against the Cylons. This was unacceptable and this woman had to be dealt with quickly, sternly, and without remorse. Can had to stop this woman before any mistakes were made. And she had to do it now.

Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass screamed throughout the room, startling Cain from her brooding. She blinked her eyes, focusing back on the object in front of her. The mirror had been broken. The shards lay scattered across the sink and floor while the round indent on the mirror itself was weeping its sorry condolences at its own inability to do its job.

A pain, quickly growing in its intensity, drew Cain's attention to her right hand. She brought it up to eye-level and groaned at the devastation she beheld. Pieces of glass stuck to her hand, usually after leaving behind a thin line of parted skin and oozing blood. Others were embedded deep into her flesh, sometimes underneath it, and gave her the allusion of a hand covered in boils.

It was only then, after seeing her wrecked hand, that the pain exploded and the throbbing began.

With her left hand she covered her face, forcefully pushing the air out of her lungs and into her palm. Mashing her teeth together, she closed her eyes and focused on the pain, embracing it wholeheartedly. And when the pain become too light, when it started to subside and push itself into the back of her mind, she made a fist, delighting in the way the glass moved deeper into her skin, tearing her open.

At least now she knew she was alive.

Cain took another deep breath in, dropped the hand covering her face, and forced herself to look at the damage. She knew she should see a doctor but this would then require her to stay on _Galactica_ for much longer than she wanted to at the moment. She wanted to get off this floating tin can and back onto her own ship, onto familiar territory, and take care of unfinished business, as it were, concerning Shaw.

Her stomach knotted again and she forced herself to stay calm. One thing at a time, she told herself, one thing at a time, and getting sick again would help no one. She had taken her two steps back and now the only logical choice was to take one forward.

With deliberate care, she started to pick out the pieces of glass most readily available in her fist. None of the pieces were more than a couple inches in length and few were embedded that deep into her palm upon further investigation. The blood too was not as much as she would have thought as small pools of it formed by each cut. Some of it flowed slowly down her hand, tickling her wrist lightly, and came dangerously close to the cuff of her uniform. When she saw this, she pulled up her sleeve, turned the tap back on, and carefully placed her aching hand under the water.

It stung at first but as the water turned warm it soothed her. She rubbed her hand gently, smoothing over the open sores and wincing to herself when a forgotten shard of glass made itself known. The blood swirled swiftly down the drain and, when all was said and done, left no evidence but she would always know it had been there.

As she searched around for something to wrap her wounds with, Cain heard someone clearing their throat from behind her. She whipped around, turning her whole body to face the person who so rudely intruded upon her make-shift sanctuary. The victim stood at the entrance to the showers, holding the knot to his white towel close to his body, and looked evenly at her. His gaze traveled first to her collar, then up to her face, and, almost immediately afterward, to the hand held gingerly to her chest. His face, once calm and professional, seemingly unfazed by the situation he was in, grew soft.

"Sir, what happened to your hand?" he asked.

Cain fought the urge to snap at him. "I had a," she paused, struggling for words. The moment hung between them before she internally shrugged it off and used her body to motion towards the mirror.

He smiled shyly. "Ah, I understand now, sir."

Not wanting to show how unsettled she felt at being seen in such a vulnerable state, Cain leveled her voice before speaking again. "Do you have anything that I can wrap this up in?"

"Aren't you going to see the doctor, sir?"

Cain shook her head. "No, I don't have the time right now. I just need to wrap it up and be out of here."

He then started, without preamble, to a set of clothes bunched neatly into a duffel bag. It sat on a bench to her right and she followed his every move with scrutinizing eyes. She watched as he searched around in the bag for a few moments, one hand still latched tightly to his towel, before he showed her a roll of boxing tape.

"Sir," he said, walking slowly towards her, "if you'd like, you can take this to wrap your hand. It's not perfect but it should do the trip."

Cain thought for a minute before quietly accepting the outstretched roll. Hanging onto the fraying end, she let it drop, and then looked curiously at her hand.

"Is there a first aid kit available?" she asked.

He tilted his head slightly. "For the gauze, sir?"

"Yes."

"I believe there's some around here," he said before moving off around the center aisle of sinks, holding his towel as he walked. "Just a minute, sir."

Cain listened to his retreating footsteps. Hanging onto one end of the tape, she took another look at her hand. The bleeding had slowed but blood continued to leak lightly around the edges. The pain was still there, creating a rhythm that worked in tandem with her heart, building a wall of comfort around her. She centered her attention on it, using it to ignore the emotions still running rampant in her stomach, and waited calmly for him to return.

It didn't take long before he did. The sound of his footsteps slowly grew louder and she lifted her head just as he was coming back around the center aisle. He was clutching something in his hand.

"Here you go, sir," he said when he came to a stop before her, giving Cain a handful of gauze pads.

She took the gauze from him without comment. Still holding onto one end of the tape in her left hand, she placed the gauze on her hand, feeling his attention absorb her every move. She attempted to bandaged her hand up on her own but she found it to be a futile effort as the gauze kept sliding off whenever she tried to wrap the tape around it. She had planned to use this opportunity to reassert her control, her dominance, but found it had only backfired, making her feel two ranks junior to the toweled man.

"Here, sir, let me help," he said, taking the roll of tape from her hand. But before she granted his request he had already started. With her left hand still holding the gauze, he took from her the end of the tape and with gentle, calloused fingers held her right hand. He carefully began winding the tape around her wrist, moving steadily up her palm and over the gauze, until he finally bunched her fingers together. He immobilized them with the tough cloth, finishing the make-shift cast by folding the end inside of itself.

It took only a few minutes but to Cain they seemed to tick slowly by. With every circle of his fingers around her hand she felt something inside of her crack. She recalled the woman in the mirror staring back at her and how, as each second passed, she felt more and more like that shattered figure. She needed to somehow regain control, put the situation, no matter how strange, back into perspective. She needed to fix her wounds, hike up her sleeves, and move on.

Cain studied her newly wrapped hand and tested the movement of her fingers by slowly stretching them out. It hurt, which was to be expected, but the tape didn't completely hinder her and her thumb was somewhat mobile. She would be able to hold a pen and take quick notes if needed.

She dropped the hand and looked carefully at the young man. His smile, although seen faintly around the corners of his mouth, was mostly replaced by a cool professionalism that she had found sorely missing on _Galactica._ It was refreshing.

"Thank you for your help," Cain began before trailing off. "I'm sorry, I never got your name."

"Lt. Agathon, sir, but I normally go by Helo."

Cain nodded as she rolled up her sleeve. "Well, Helo, again, thank you," she said, the genuine appreciation that came out confusing her.

"Of course, sir."

She glanced back towards the broken mirror and frowned, the evidence of her breakdown taunting her. It would not do to let this one stay there for long. "Tell your commander I owe him a mirror."

"Yes, sir."

She turned her head back around. "And I will have it for him within a few hours."

"Yes, sir," he said, the faint smile fading under her orders. "I will tell him shortly, sir, once I get dressed."

Cain smiled thinly at that, seeing as if for the first time that Helo still wore only his towel, hanging loosely from his waist. She waited a moment longer, trying to gain that sorely missed control, and turned quietly, precisely, on her heel, making for the hatch. Once outside, she motioned to her Marines, completely unperturbed by the stares of the displaced crew, some of which were more than angry. She continued with a determined air to the hanger deck and waiting Raptor.

* * *

Cain stepped gracefully through the hatch and into the brig. It was of a good size, containing ten cells with each having its own bed and wash area. There was also a guard's station to the left of the entrance that could hold three Marines comfortably. She had been in here once and then as part of the tour when she was first assigned to _Pegasus_. She dimly recalled there being another brig-like area, the so-called "white room" named for its many bright lights and one dividing glass wall, but that was used more for interrogations and the other, more unsavory acts of having prisoners aboard during wartime. She hoped never to use that room if only for the desire to have all Cylons dead before they even got to the hatch.

Shaw was in the second cell, standing at attention, her eyes focused only on the cell's bars.

Cain had called ahead from the Raptor to her XO and told him to place the lieutenant under arrest immediately. He had started to ask questions before wisely concluding from the tone of the admiral's voice alone that she would not, in any way, explain herself this time. It appeared that he had quickly carried out her orders. She made a mental note to say something positive to him about it.

The ride over had been, to her complete surprise, productive. Cain had used the time to list not only the questions she had for Shaw once she arrived on _Pegasus_ but also all the tasks she had left unfinished in her rush to confront her new...problem. Each item was placed calmly on her mental notepad, all emotion shoved back into the dark corners of her mind. All emotions except for one. Cain kept her anger simmering slowly on the surface, basking in the warmth it gave off.

Over the years her anger had served her well and she continually used it as her sole motivator. Without her anger, she would never have gotten this far, would never have survived past her childhood. Without her anger she was only average and the average never survived. She needed to tap back into it, to wear it proudly on her sleeve, and by the time the Raptor landed, Cain had already gotten the sowing needle threaded.

As she walked over to the cell, she curiously noted that Shaw wore no obvious sign of surprise at her sudden imprisonment. In fact, to Cain she looked like she had expected this all along. Taking a few quick moments to evaluate the lieutenant, Cain ordered Shaw to rest her position, more out of habit than anything else.

"I believe you know why you are in here," Cain began once Shaw stood at rest and folded her arms. She tried somewhat successfully to hide her wrapped hand uncomfortably behind her elbow.

Shaw nodded.

Inexplicably, that irritated Cain. "Gina Inviere was revealed to be a Cylon early this morning and is now in _Galactica'_s holding cell," Cain said, the Cylon's name sounding oddly foreign on her lips. "When I went to speak with her, no, with _it_, it said I should speak with you, Lieutenant. That you would know everything I needed to."

Shaw's eyes wavered quickly between her commanding officer and the floor before nodding again.

Cain could feel the temper she had roughly subdued on the flight back to _Pegasus_ flare back to life, flooding her veins with hot anger. Her fists clenched and the dull pain from her right hand only fueled the fire.

"Start explaining, Lieutenant," Cain growled, struggling to keep her voice level, "now."

Shaw looked at her, searching suddenly cold and hollow eyes, before beginning.

"Sir, you asked me during the assault on the comm relay to go to airlock control and keep the Cylons from venting us out."

Cain nodded tensely at Shaw's questioning look, slightly surprised at Shaw's willingness to jump right into the thick of things so quickly.

"I got halfway there when I found Gina running in the opposite direction. I told her to proceed directly to CIC but she refused to go. She was...panicking, sir. She said that she had to go to a certain terminal and fix something. I tried to steer her away but she was very adamant about it. It was then that the Cylons starting to pore in. I pushed her into a corner and we waited them out. I glanced around to see if they were gone and it was then that I saw a clone of Gina."

"You _saw_ it?!" Cain shouted and everyone jumped in surprise.

Shaw's mouth tightened into a hard, straight line. "Yes, sir, I saw her, and when I did I pulled out my pistol and pointed it at Gina. She knew why I was doing it and she begged me not to shoot. She wanted to explain herself to me. She claimed that she was on our side. I can't place my finger on why I believed her, I just did."

Cain watched Shaw shrug with interest. There was something strange shadowing Shaw's face, something that softened her features and warmed the cell around her. To Cain it was unnerving. She believed very little in intuition and whenever her peers had claimed that she had a "knack" for command, she brushed it off with excuses of ability and well-honed skills. Now to hear that one of her officers had made a potentially race-ending decision based on intuition alone puzzled her.

"So, I led her to the network terminal she requested," Shaw continued, "and watched her input a few codes, ones that I had never seen before. Then, everything came back on. I could hear the weapons grid firing. She did it, sir, all by herself."

With her broken hand, Cain cupped her chin. "You called me then, right after the grid came back online."

"Yes, sir, I did. I wanted verification."

Cain barely heard Shaw's response, so focused was she on recalling that day's events. "I then congratulated you but you said..."

"I said it wasn't me, it was Gina, sir," Shaw said, finishing where Cain had trailed off.

The admiral dropped her hand and looked off to her right. She thought for a moment, letting the silence of the brig seep into her skin. But the thoughts swirling around in her head moved to fast for her to catch, so instead she stood there, trying to get a handle on the situation. She didn't think she ever could.

"Why did you ever think you could trust her?" Cain questioned, half to herself.

"Because we did before," Shaw continued, "and when she explained everything, it made sense. Something about her changed. She sounded sincere in her motives and I believed what she said."

"Her motives?" Cain asked, perking back up.

"Yes, sir."

"Care to elaborate on that, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir."

In hindsight, Cain was sure she would view this incident as just another example of her inadequacies as an admiral, another instance of her failure to instill disciple and morals into her crew. But right now it only served to shock her into silence.

For long moments the hum of a working battlestar sounded in the dim distance until Cain finally found her voice. "No?" she asked incredulously.

"No, sir, I can't elaborate on that. If you want to know what Gina's motives were, you really should talk to her. She would be able to explain herself better than I could."

Although it troubled her greatly, Cain realized that in the overall scheme of things Shaw's insubordination meant very little. It was in the past, its harm already done, and Cain's only option now was to enforce some sort of damage control and try to salvage this horrible position she had been thrust into. She clenched her good hand into a fist and tried to clear her mind with a nip to her tongue.

But there was one more thing that needed explaining.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Cain asked, her voice betraying her uncertainty.

Shaw looked at her as if that was the only question worth answering. "Because I knew it would have broken you."

"Excuse me?" Cain asked, confusion tainting her voice as it regained its sharp edge.

Shaw straightened her back and tilted her chin up, a look of self-righteousness overtaking her. "It would have broken you, sir, knowing Gina was a Cylon. You were so happy with her, even if you tried to hide it. I knew it, hell, we all did, and I didn't want to be the person who took it away from you."

Shaw's shoulders lowered slightly and when she spoke next, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know everything, sir, but I know that you can trust her. I've been watching her since the attack and she hasn't done anything wrong. Actually, sir, she's done more than I ever expected. And she....sir?"

The admiral picked up on the inflection Shaw made on the last word and cocked her eyebrow. "Yes?"

"She loves you."

Cain's first instinct was to wave off the statement, dismissing it without another moment's hesitation. Then the weight of what had just happened, the betrayal and the hurt, and as the two stared at each through the bars and with each passing moment, Cain could feel it all coming back to her in a wave of unwelcome emotion. Her face contorted, her eyes narrowing, and she leveled Shaw with a stare that could have torn ships apart. She delighted in the flinched it produced on the lieutenant's face.

The admiral straightened her back and relaxed her shoulders. "Lieutenant Kendra Shaw, I charge you with colluding with the enemy and high treason. You are hereby stripped of rank and all privileges of citizenship. You will stay here as a prisoner on my ship until I have figured out what to do with you."

She paused and a smile spread lazily across her lips.

"I want you to rot in here," Cain growled, her voice dangerously low, "and I'm going to enjoy every minute."

She then immediately turned around towards the hatch, not waiting for Shaw's reaction. She was halfway out when she turned to the man at her right.

"I want this hatch locked and no one in the room except for Shaw. All personnel who want to enter needs personal permission from me, even those delivering food."

Cain began for the hatch when another thought, this one more tantalizing than the rest, and turned her head back to the Marine.

"Oh," she remarked casually, her smile spreading across her face like a disease, "and take her uniform, she won't be needing it anymore."

She waited for the Marine to acknowledge her orders before leaving. Once outside her Marine escorts fell into perfect step behind her as she prowled her ship's hallways, enjoying the way her crew parted quietly before her with pleasure.


End file.
